AMY CARMICHAEL O MILLISLE

Tha Miller’s dochter, at a while -
Amy Carmichael o Millisle.
Boarn echteen an sixtie seven,
Whan neibor Wullie Boyd wus pennin,
Ay, poet Wullie Boyd wus scrievin,
Rhymes in echteen fiftie seiven.
A twalmonth then an mebbe mair,
He’d wrocht amang Carmichael’s stour,
Tae ‘Mr. D. C. o Millisle’,
Wha run tha mill in ‘furst rate style’.
A yeir afore in fiftie sax,
Mester Davit half up’t sticks,
He bocht a fairm jist up tha wye,
Sae poet Wullie wrocht there tae.

Carmichael’s mills had lang grun coarn,
A hunner yeir ‘fore she wus boarn.
But fether Dave an uncle Wull,
Fixed on biggin new tha mill.
An sae draa’d stanes fae Templepetherick -
Tha taak o fowks tha lenth o Sketrick.
Bard Wullie Boyd then pit it doon,
Whan echteen an saxtie cum aroon.
An noo we cum tae sixtie-sein,
Carmichael’s hoose a gift wus gien -
A dochter that wud dae mair guid,
Nor aa tha mills o stane an wud.


Her fowks lang bak wur Scotch an ticht,
Coveynanters wrang’d, but in tha richt.
An oot o hist’ries trouble’t mirk,
Carmichaels, tha pillers o tha kirk.
The’ bigged wi apen han forbye,
A schuil an Meetin Hoose jist bye.
Tha Ballycopelan yin it wus,
Secession wus tha road the’ chuse.
But Amy, whun she growed up free,
Abane sich splits she prove’t tae be.
Nae mettèr whut gless tha wundaes had,
Tha pews wud houl baith guid an bad.
It wus tha puir she be’d tae save,
An wrocht at it richt tae her grave.


Wee Amy, she furst saa tha licht,
Whun a puir wumman catched her sicht.
Passin by gan hame frae Meetin,
Yin Sabbath moarn, it fun her greetin.
Tha weeda-wumman wus starvin coul,
Carryin ower monie sticks tae houl.
Her raggit claes flapp’t in tha wun,
An frae this sicht tha Loard she fun.
Tha road tae Asia micht be lang,
Less tha ‘cal’ be lood an strang.
Tha mair whun Amy got tae twuntie,
Tha thocht o whut she seen thon Sunday,
A flit tae Bilfawst cudnae skail,
Wi shawlies tremmlin in tha hail.
Warl ill divid, it hut her sair,
Why love an walth, God gien her mair?
Sae aff she sail't fur India
Tae leeve, an gie tha baith awa.

BALLYHASKIN AN THA WHUSKIN

Betwixt tha streech o Drumfad Bay,
An flets o san at Gannaway,
Coastguairds, whiles, wud watch bi day,
Ower roaks an stoarms,
An then whan aa wus lown wud play,
At fillin foarms.

Oul boat-holes gien up thair task in,
Reuch an roakie Ballyhaskin,
Eneuch o pladdies fur tha askin,
An mair on doon,
Roakie heidlans at Tha Whuskin,
Gar boats gang roon.

Whan sannie shore has tide gan oot,
Tha Whuskin’s roaks stan prood an stoot,
But sautie wattèrs aye aboot,
Fur tides jaist drap,
An lea tha deep-sey tang’l root,
Abane tha tap.


Amang tha roaks, scarts sweemin, babbed.
In oot tha creeks wi tides lang scarred,
Like heid o hair that kame had dabbed,
Wi bustit tooth,
An clane-shaved roaks wi limpits scabbed,
Aroon tha mooth.

Tha strans o roak like yella-man,
Yinst streeched an pu’ed wi Michtie Han,
A thoosan blue-stane, slatey bans,
That bak-wash drains.
Whar leevin sea meets promised lan,
On its bare banes.

Stane pages o creation’s buik,
Stuid up on en, abane tae luk,
Betwixt tha sey an Whuskin’s neuk,
Blue leevin slates,
In wavey lines frae Scotlann tuk,
Tae cleek tha States.

DRUMFAD

Fae Chapel Isle tha Pilgrim pad,
Tae neardest shore alang Drumfad,
Tha lang rig taen tae skirt tha bad -
Baith fowk an lan.
Tae tha lang moss wus tame’t, bedad!
An drain’t bi han.

Bricht streech o san at Drumfad Bay,
Whar monies tha boat frae Whithoarn lay,
Betwixt Tha Whuskin’s roaks slate-grey,
An Miller’s Isle.
On men wha sail’t frae Galloway,
Tha sin did smile.

The road the’ taen wus shore tae shore,
Tae wun tae Nendrum wus tha chore,
Tha lang rig richt throu Carradore,
An on tae braes,
Whar Rodden Dykes, Movilla or
Tae Nendrum gaes.

On Drumfad shore, in Plantin ticht,
Whaur yinst a forth had owersicht,
A Haw noo bigged on thon wee heicht,
The’ caa Woburn.
Turn’t intae Borstal Hame tae richt,
Tha yins still errin.

RAVEN MAPS

Tam Raven wi yer burd’s-ee view,
Brave picthur-maps ye hae iz drew,
O Killylea an Cummer New -
nae Cummer Oul.
Fur Hamilton gien Gumrie’s crew,
tha shoother coul.

Whan Jamie furst pit on tha croon,
A Scotchman doon in Lunnon toon.
Tae boags an braes in coontie Doon,
he turnt his een.
An apent up tha kintrie roon -
a heirskip gien.

Sixteen hunnèrs, a lang while bak
Frae thoosans taen tha hame-airt traik.
Amang thaim aa dour Corbies blak,
tae face tha pew.
Wi Jamie’s Wurd o God in pack,
in Inglish new.

But noo tha ootcum o it aa
Twa-leidit signs on ilka raa
Ye micht weel lauch, ye Greba craa,
or gar ye grue.
Tha mair ye flee abane it aa,
wi wurm’s-ee view.

NEW LICHT

Alang tha road tae unnèrstan,
A gleed o licht on Richts o Man.
Eneuch tae blin tha rebel hairt,
Tae whut tha licht wus at tha stairt.

Thair’s naethin new unnèr tha sin,
Barrin tha Wurd that brocht it in.
Oul Licht that’s lang’lt wi tha laa
New Licht that’s set tae coup it aa.

Tha Oul Licht tribe A own in pairt,
An New Licht victries lift ma hairt.
But whan tha twa beek bricht as yin,
Abane tha cloods nae dairk thochts rin.

OUL LICHT

Sae dairk its lane, tha hoose behin

A soo’s pink een, bue hurricin

Wairm reek clims up, coul tin tae fin

Afore new licht

Yin swutch haes lectric’s new age in

Wi plestic dicht.

Quhan kists o whussles thunnered strang

Thon Oul Licht crew aye thocht it wrang

An noo is riz tha praise ban’s sang

In chorus bricht.

But Psalms in pairts haes echas lang

In hantin licht.

Tha Unitet Ulsterman

Hae mine o Orr, wha wud hae focht
Tha mair he leeved fur billiehood.
Braid Islan shores he loved owre ocht,
Nae metther flegs nor anthems prood.

Hae mine o Orr, whas yin-street toon
Gien rise tae monies a yin tha same.
Whaur doon tha yeirs tha bugle soon
Caa’d sins tae mairch an dee fur hame.

Wae Orr in mine A’ll stan mae lane,
Agin a warl that’s ill divid.
Orr’s brave wee warl it is ma ain -
Thon hairtsome shore an hamely guid.

Sae if ye be tae Inglan true,
Or if oul Airlann’s aye yer sang
Or if ye’d ledge ye’r Scotch True Blue,
Them threeds whun wab’t thegither’s strang.

Hae mine o Orr’s Unitet ban
They loast tha fecht, he wun tha war.
A guid Unitet Ulsterman
Raxed up abane thon battle’s glar.

Hae mine o Orr, an bear tha gree,
Fur blessit them in poortith be.
An wud ye brak yer lang’ls free,
Ye’r gart aa men as brithers see.

Lyin laich in Darkley

Abane twa thoosan deid, an mair,
Whut-fur thair bluid keels grun an flair?
Whiles, blame is pit on civil laws,
An them yins wae religious cause.
- Tha answer lies in Darkley.

Tha maist hairtscald is fur wor ain.
Hunnèrs apiece, whun coontin’s daen.
But aa it taks is jist tha yin.
A gye close freen, or wife or sin.
- Wha’s freens o them in Darkley?

Religion, on its heid maun be
Tha trigger-pu’in finger’s glee,
Tha lach ahint each “Trick or Trait”,
Tha wrangs at brocht aboot sich hate,
- An sput it oot in Darkley.

If you cud yock tha Man Abane,
An ax him if He cud explain,
Whit dairkness lees ahint it aa?
He’d tak ye tae a Mission Haw,
- An show ye graves in Darkley.

Abane twa thoosan yeir, or mair,
A lang whiles bak, but jist as sair,
Religion, langl’t wi tha deil,
Tuk Innocence intae a fiel,
- Tae slauchter like in Darkley.

Sae grave whaur bes yer victorie?
Whut price is bocht identitie?
Ye neednae gan tae foreign lans,
Or leuk it up in buiks or plans,
- Tha answer lies in Darkley.

Ayont tha Knowes

Ayont thonner an thon.
Ahint tha halie knowes.
A plunnèr through a lann o draims,
Tae fin,
Whaur hairtsome gledness growes.

Abane aa thochts o threaps,
Amang tha leevin past,
A lan o leevin mem’ries bricht,
Oul times,
New catched, micht langer last.

Atween tha nicht an day.
Awa fae wun an rain.
Afore tha weechil in me growes,
An lees
Me coul an haird as stane.

Awa fae wechtie cares,
Ayont sich warldlie hell,
Tha hamely lan is haird tae fin,
No lake
Tha yin we big oorsel.

Amang tha hairtsome crack.
Aroon tha apen hearth.
“Ye niver know tha minute, hae”,
Quo he,
A freen lang deid on earth.

A place A knowed sae weel,
A heerd tha hamely tongue.
Sich sichts an soons fae lang ago,
Gars me
Hae mind o whut A fun.

Ayont thonner an thon,
A cudnae thole it lee,
Tha mair thon lan’s ahint tha veil,
A’ll hunt,
Fur mair afore A dee.

Alba and Albania

Boneybefore's frae whaur A'm cum,
Ma hamely hairth wae rid breek lum.
Nae mine A hae o fechtin drum,
Agin tha breesht.
Na, hairts wus lairnt tae saftly thrum,
An houl oor wheesht.

Oul-farrant nichts an stane-waa ruins,
Freats ma een catched mair nor aince.
Luxemburg! Boys! A fistlin newance,
In waffs o soon.
Duntit breeshts wae juke-bax boomins.
Braw nichts in toun.

Willicks hoaked frae roak an wrak.
Marlies, cheesers an fairm-hoose crack.
Mair lake The Waltons nor a boadie cud tak.
But unco shune, hae.
Slonks an dykes lept aye wud brak,
Winkle-picker's tae.

"Kang an Kintra" no lang in thocht.
In pews, a Kang abane wuz socht.
Elvis an Country recairts bocht,
Nae flegs aboot.
Bricht kiltie ban'? Na, no owre ocht.
Tha heicht, A doot.

Frae keeks syne catched o ithers warls,
No yin bit oors, nae pritta farls.
But fechtin heidyins, reekin barls,
As yins sees iz.
Warl ill divid whaur war aye birls,
Frae poortith riz.

Wee Fergies in a lang crouse raa,
Vintage trayctors pit on a dra,
Puein wi horses gien iz mair gra,
Fur days lang syne.
Kosovo trayctors tha yin nicht A sa,
Oul-tyme in line.

Ticht wee Serbs, tha peep-o-day clan.
Mooslim dissenters, black-moothed an thran.
Papish Croatians bigged thair ain laun,
"Thirteen an Echtie-Nine".
Weemin girnin owre deid guidman,
Wrangs aye in mine.

Waas a-tummlin gart turn ilk heid
Weans flittin, in scunners, an brithers deid
Grannie hapt in a barra, alang wi tha breid
Nae catter ava.
Da, stour tae stour. Nae succeedin leid?
Haud on tae Allah.

O God o Balkans, by whase han,
Is mate gien til sic thrangs o thran?
Thrie warls, thrie leids, in yin wee lan,
Thrie gods or Yin?
Wha cud crusade agin whilk ban,
Whun on tha rin?

"Bal'albana's whaur A cum fae",
Tha very thing A heerd him say,
This ethnic haun o Larne yin day,
(Whaur A wus boarn).
Blinnin tha slonks on ilka brae.
Hairt o Alban coarn.

A thocht A seen him yinst agane,
Thon wee auld man frae bak abane,
Hirplin Kosovo braes his lane,
Tha gate tae bield.
Hiein frae his hairth an hame,
Wae heirskip skailed.

Yit Boneybefore's whaur A cum frae,
Tha spairk o aa tha thochts A hae.
Whun aa bes owre, wha wudnae spae,
Micht's aye tha thing.
Sae historie taks nae tent theday,
O a weefella's spring.

Alang tha Shore

A hae mind whun we wur weans,
A guid nicht’s spoart wus cloddin stanes.
Oor playgrun wus alang tha shore,
Wat roaks tae clim an sprachle owre.

Tha batthrie waa, whun tides wur in,
Oor changin place afore we swum.
Tha roaks an saun whun tides wur oot,
Wae wreck an willicks skail’d aboot.

We’d fish fur blockan mang tha wreck,
Or coup a boulder on it’s bak.
Thon sudden licht gart hoochin stairt,
Or whiles a crubbin’s claas wud pairt.

But then we growed intae oor teens,
Wae chasin hizzies mair tha scene.
We left tha shore tae hunt inlann,
Roon Toon-Haw daunce an chippie van.

An sae tae ast yin oot a date,
In picthur-hoose, boys! bak-raa sate!
Sich tangl’t bakes lake limpets clamp’t,
Til lumberin twa’s tha torchie damp’t.

An then afore we knowed tha score,
Gaun steadie tuk iz far frae shore.
Tha mair we’d whiles waak han-in-han,
Alang some ither streetch o lan.

It’s jist in later years, A doot,
Whun oul an daen, an niver oot,
Tha thocht o willick-hoakin weans
Wull tak me bae tha shore mae lane.

An even whun A’m rannèrin,
Jist in ma heid gan dannèrin
Amang tha roaks whaur we wud hide,
A’ll watch tha last, laich even-tide.